


Carolling on Baker Street

by freckleslikeconstellations



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas carolling with a difference, Dancing, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Humour, Karaoke, Mistletoe, Multi, Mycroft is put in embarrassing situation after embarrassing situation, Songfic, established relationships - Freeform, tipsy playful Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 07:00:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8702017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freckleslikeconstellations/pseuds/freckleslikeconstellations
Summary: Mycroft should really know better by now than to try and rescue you from the annual 221B Christmas party...





	

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you all get what you desire this festive season. :)

Mycroft approaches the door of 221B worriedly through the dusting of snow that’s coating the pavement like icing sugar on one of his favourite cakes. He’s in a black, open coat, navy three-piece suit, white shirt and a tie, which has swifts on. Once he’s at the black door, which is decorated with a simple pine cone wreath and red ribbon he straightens the knocker, before he draws it down. He can hear the constant, ringing thud of something coming from inside, but nothing else. Not even the soft tread of footsteps to the door, which opens in front of him to reveal a slightly giddy Mrs. Hudson. She carries a sherry in one of her hands and keeps the door open with her other. 

 

“Oh Mycroft,” she says, stepping forwards a little so that she can keep the door open with her shoulder, whilst she straightens her lilac cardigan. Mycroft notices that her eyes look unusually bright and he’s a little alarmed to see that she’s got a sprig of mistletoe in her hair. He hopes that she doesn’t expect him to adhere to tradition. “F/N will be pleased to see you dear. I think she’s got it in her head that you aren't coming.”

 

Mycroft smiles a little indulgently at that. The truth is he _hadn’t_ been intending to come. The annual 221B Christmas party is the last place that he wants to be in after all. Not even all your wheedling or attempts to blackmail him had encouraged him otherwise. Nor had the note you’d left on the kitchen table when he’d come home, which had said: _Mycroft, please, please come to the Christmas party tonight. I'm wearing a fabulous dress. F/N. X._ That had just made Mycroft chuckle at your attempt to lure him, roll his eyes, scrunch the piece of paper up and throw it in the bin. After all why hurry down there just to see your dress when he can see such a thing when you get home and have fun ridding you of it? But then he’d gotten the text that you’d sent him half-an-hour ago, which had simply said: _Emergency._ Now Mycroft’s no fool. He’d realized that it had probably just been his brother and you messing about, so he hadn’t got the emergency services involved or anything like that. He knows too that Gregory should be at the party so he should have that angle covered if need be. But neither could he just take the risk that it wasn’t real and do nothing about it either, so with a very heavy sigh he’d hauled himself out of his armchair, abandoned his half-drunk glass of scotch and prepared to leave for there with the intention of bringing you back home if nothing else. If you want him that badly then you can simply do as he wishes. “Is everything all right Mrs. Hudson?” he asks, though he’s pretty sure now that it is.

 

“Yes of course,” she says, looking at him a little oddly, but then again that’s nothing new, “Come in.”

 

He follows her inside and as he closes the door behind him the thumping sound that he’d been aware of before becomes a shouted and very grating version of, _‘I Wish It Could Be Christmas Everyday,’_ something that Mycroft feels sure that you do because you always seem to get sillier as this season approaches. The song is being sung very badly by John, Gregory and you. He wrinkles his nose and pauses, tempted to just swivel on his heel and go again now that he knows you’re not dying from over-indulgence in mince pies or anything like that. Mrs. Hudson however beckons that he should lead the way upstairs, so he does so with all the goodwill of a man on his way to be executed. Halfway up he pauses again. He’d hoped that the reason the singing sounded so bad was because the noise was being distorted in an odd fashion, but now that he’s closer still it comes across as being all the more terrible. 

 

“Go on dear. It’s not that bad,” Mrs. Hudson encourages him, almost wishing that she’d gone first now. 

 

Mycroft drags his feet the rest of the way. 

 

When he reaches the sitting room, which is decorated due to the season and warm because of the fire in the grate, the first thing he does is to duck in and lean his umbrella against the wall. Then he takes in all the chaos. John, Gregory and you are standing with your backs to the settee, with you in the middle, all holding microphones that are attached to a small, flashing blue and white jukebox as it stands on one of the side tables next to the armchairs. John and Gregory are in the most hideous Christmas jumpers that Mycroft can only keep his eyes on for a moment, enough to notice that John’s is red and black and that Gregory’s is blue, white and green, before he has to look away again. Sherlock, in his purple shirt and smart dark trousers, Mary in a red sparkly dress and Molly in a pink dress that has a large bow of the same colour on the front of it are all clustered around the armchairs, facing you. Sherlock is sitting down, whilst the women, both with sprigs of mistletoe in their hair, stand beside him. Mrs. Hudson goes to join them. You also have a sprig of mistletoe in your hair and you _do_ look nice Mycroft observes, but the evening has definitely begun to take its toll on you. Your hair is loose and messy and resting upon the green tinsel with fake, shiny holly decoration that you’ve got around your shoulders. Clearly you’ve also been bouncing around at once stage because one of the straps from the sparkly black dress you’re wearing is sliding carelessly down, whilst the red lipstick, which he can tell that you’d so carefully applied earlier is a little faded now, as is the foundation, eye-liner and eye shadow that you’ve got on. Thankfully though the gold Christmas tree earrings he’d gotten for you the previous Christmas are still in place and he thinks that you’re more on the tipsy side of the drunken scale by the way that your swaying movements still seem relatively focused. 

 

_“Myc!”_ your eyes light up when you turn your head and see him. You quickly abandon both the song and microphone, letting the latter fall to the floor recklessly, so that you can fling yourself at him. Pinning his arms to his sides you say, “You came! I missed you so much!” You rest your chin on his chest and peer up at him. 

 

Perhaps you’re a little more drunk than he’d thought he thinks. With difficulty he wriggles his arms free from you and holds you back from him. “So much for the emergency my dear,” he says wryly. 

 

You look a little guilty at that. Sherlock sniggers in the background. “It was the only way Sherlock thought I’d get you here,” you confess, “I’ve been missing you all night.” You frown for a moment. “In any case it was an emergency because you weren’t here,” you say cutely, whilst the boys come to a rousing finish of the song behind you.

 

“And why am I so necessary?” Mycroft purrs as Greg switches off the jukebox and makes his words more widely heard. Everyone stares at the British Government as if he’s just grown an extra head. They've seen you be flirtatious towards him before, but usually he’s more reserved. You however simply let out a dirty giggle, before you try to kiss him. That takes things rather further than Mycroft would like in public and he leans away from you, so that you can’t. You desist with a pout. Smiling a little bit about your disappointment Mycroft leans forwards, removes the tinsel from around your shoulders, drops it to the floor and adjusts your strap so that it’s straight again. Satisfied with his work he whispers so that no one else can hear, “Perhaps we should go home?”

 

“Oh no!” you say, much to his surprise, “We’re going carolling. Will you come with us?” You flutter your eyelashes at him.

 

Mycroft swallows; feeling discomfited, and quickly holds you away from him by your shoulders when you try to hug him again. “I don’t think you’re in much of a fit state to be going carolling F/N. Why don’t you come home with me instead?” he asks.

 

“Urgh! It’s bad enough that you turned up, but are you actually trying to make everyone feel as if they’re trapped in a living nightmare?” Sherlock queries in disgust. Mycroft glares at him. 

 

You tug at your boyfriend’s tie; pulling the middle of it away from the shirt he’s wearing and making it crease up over the waistcoat he’s got on. “You’re making me untidy my dear,” Mycroft says, trying to peel your fingers off him and smooth his tie back down again. 

 

Your hands go to his waistcoat instead, pressing against it. “Please MyMy. _Please.”_ Mycroft clears his throat loudly. Everyone else sniggers at what you’d just called him, before they quickly try and cover it up with their hands or turn it into a cough when Mycroft looks at them darkly. You grab at his hands. 

 

“Now F/N”-

 

“Please let us go carolling. Sherly Werly’s going to be there”-Sherlock nearly chokes on the glass of red wine he’s picked up from the side table and John and Greg both grin-“Everyone is.” You swing your joined hands back and forth and look up at Mycroft with the largest eyes that make Mycroft think you’re part marsupial. 

 

Mycroft looks at his brother and raises his eyebrows as if to ask, _‘You agreed to this?!’_

 

Sherlock raises his own eyebrows up twice as high. _‘Have you seen her?’_

 

As Mycroft looks down at where you’re staring up at him imploringly he thinks that his brother’s just made a fair point. He still doesn’t think it a wise idea for you to go out carolling though. More for your own safety than anything else. 

 

As if you’re aware of such a thing you say, “I'm going to do it”-you nod-“Whether you-whether you want me to or not because I want to and I'm a grown woman, but if you really, _really_ love me”-you practically fall against him now, crossing your hands at the back of his neck-“Then you’ll come anyway, even if you don’t want to, so that you can p-protect me from the big, bad world that you’re always saying is so scary, and then”-your voice goes all low and breathy and you draw him down a little, so that you can whisper in his ear, “Then we’ll go home and make love all night. _All night,”_ you promise. 

 

Mycroft’s face flushes pink and he looks around nervously at that. You hadn’t been talking loudly enough for anyone else to hear, but Sherlock seems to have gotten the gist of it, for he cries out in an unimpressed fashion, “For God’s sake. I know what will get you moving Mycroft.” Then he begins to sing, “Mycroft the red-nosed reindeer had a very shiny nose.” He puts his drink down again, gets up, swoops past you and puts on his usual black coat and scarf as he goes downstairs. Grinning a bit John and Greg follow after him. Mary and Molly hasten after their respective partners and Mrs. Hudson joins them with a tittering laugh. 

 

You push yourself off Mycroft, smile and giggle, before you follow after them all. Mycroft, worried that you might fall on the stairs, hurries after you with an urgent expression on his face, leaving his umbrella behind. You don’t fall and you practically skip as you exit the front door to 221B, which has been left wide open, blowing a nice draught in. Feeling harried Mycroft closes it, before he joins where you’re all grouped up next door and much to his chagrin singing, _‘Mycroft the Red-Nosed Reindeer.’_

 

He forces himself to join in as he takes his place beside you. Mrs. Turner’s curious gaze goes to him. She’s got graying brown hair and green eyes. 

 

“…had a very shiny nose, and if you ever saw it, you would even say it glows.” Sherlock grins at Mycroft wickedly; taking delight in the fact that Mycroft’s nose _has_ got distinctly redder since being out in the cold. You link your arm with your boyfriend’s and snuggle into his side. Mycroft blushes from all those numerous things. “All of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names. They never let poor Mycroft join in any reindeer games.” You knock into him and pout sadly at that. As the song continues your voice is louder than any other as you sing, “Then one foggy Christmas Eve, F/N came to say”-you wink coquettishly at Mycroft-“Mycroft with your nose so bright, won’t you guide my sleigh tonight?” As everyone else continues to sing, their faces all flushed from the cold and amusement, you push against Mycroft and stand on your tiptoes, nearly falling sideways into him as you twist your head and murmur, “Will you be my reindeer?”

 

_“F/N!”_ Mycroft hisses, trying to keep his gaze fixed on Mrs. Turner. He can’t believe how you’re acting right now. Mary, who’s standing on your other side, gets a huge grin about her face and finds it hard to sing on. When she does so it’s in a faltering fashion. 

 

“Please Mycroft,” you whine, standing in front of him now, “I want to ride you. I want to ride you so hard that you’ll see Santa Claus.” Your hands push against his chest and you try and lunge upward to suck on his nose. 

 

Mycroft hurriedly pushes you back from him before you can and the pair of you suddenly realize that everyone’s finished singing and are now just watching your antics with a mixture of awkwardness, embarrassment and revulsion. The revulsion part is obviously being expressed by Sherlock. The flush on Mycroft’s face deepens. 

 

“No, it’s all right Mrs. Turner. We’re only doing this for fun,” Molly says when Mrs. Turner takes her purse out of her pocket and begins to open it. The older woman puts it away with a bit of a blush about her face. 

 

“On to the next one. Do try and keep up won’t you brother?” Sherlock asks and everyone aside from Mycroft and you moves across the street. 

 

Mycroft meanwhile, as Mrs. Turner closes the door a little awkwardly on you both, grasps at your wrist and takes you aside for a moment. “Really F/N,” he says, gesturing at you with his free hand, “You must try and control your more…primal urges”-

 

_“'Primal?'”_ you giggle. “Are you trying to be a caveman My? Is that why you don’t want to be a reindeer because you want to go all prehistoric on me instead?” 

 

Mycroft rolls his eyes and deems trying to get you to act more sensibly right now a lost cause. He leads you over to the rest of the group just as Molly says, “I really think we should do, _‘Extraordinary Merry Christmas.’_ They did it on _‘Glee.’_ Yes Sherlock that’s the one that F/N and I sung earlier, but I think it would be good to do it again. It’s a real party starter and now that we’re all evenly gendered we can do bit more dancing to it too.”

 

“Right,” Mycroft immediately says in a loud tone, “I think it’s time for us to be off F/N. I’ve had enough silliness for one evening.” But before he can leave you tug him back to you by the wrist with an incredible strength that gets Mycroft shaking his hand and wincing as soon as you let go of him. 

 

The other men don’t look that happy either. “Don’t worry,” Molly tells their disgruntled faces, “It’s really very simple choreography. But we have to be quick because I think someone’s coming to the door. Now if all the men get behind their partners-Sherlock if you go behind Mrs. Hudson.”

 

Mycroft goes behind you and you tilt your head back. “Hi MyMy,” you grin. Mycroft smiles down a little awkwardly at you. Greg lets out a snort as he watches you both from his position behind Molly who’s now next to you. 

 

“Now if all the men can just put their hands on their partners waist and get ready to sway a little-ooh, here we go,” Molly says as a mousy-haired couple open the door. “One, two, three.” 

 

“It came into my dreams last night,” Sherlock starts off, whilst the rest of you sway. Mycroft’s perfectly in time like the pendulum of a clock, but you’re out of it and he has to nudge at your hip encouragingly with his hand to get you to move the way that you should. He swallows when you smile up at him in a pleased fashion. “A great, big man in red and white. He told me that it’s gonna be a special year for you and me.”

 

“Underneath the mistletoe,” the women and you sing, pulling the mistletoe out of your hair and turning around to your partners. “Hold me tight and kiss me slow.” Mary, Molly and you hold up the mistletoe with one hand, grab onto your partner’s shoulder with the other and roll against them. Mrs. Hudson just continues to sway with Sherlock instead, whilst he looks somewhat awkward. Mary, Molly and you all turn to face the front again. “The snow is high so come inside.” The three of you put the mistletoe back into your hair, take your partners hands and splay them against your stomach. You push back a little into Mycroft as you do this and he swallows again. “I wanna hear you say to me!” You take Mycroft’s hands off you one by one and Molly and Mary do the same with Greg and John’s, before you spin underneath Mycroft’s arm as you sing, “It’s a very, very, merry, merry Christmas.” You circle Mycroft until you face the front again. “Gonna party on ‘til Santa grants my wishes. Got my halo on I know what I want. It’s who I'm with.” You reach back and pull Mycroft forward by his tie, before you flick it back again, sending it over his shoulder. He pushes it back underneath his waistcoat hurriedly. Knowing what he’s doing you smile. “It’s an extraordinary merry Christmas!”

 

“It doesn’t come as a surprise who’s been naughty, who’s been nice,” Greg sings as Mary, Molly and you circle around your partners, caressing at their chests as you do so. 

 

“There’s someone here for everyone. Another year has just begun,” John sings. 

 

There’s a bit of a pause, before you nudge at Mycroft and stand in front of him, facing him and mouthing the words, so that he can sing: “Silent night, not inside. Sleigh bells ring until the night.” You nod at him in a pleased fashion. He hadn’t been the most enthusiastic, but his performance had been better than you’d expected it to be.

 

“Hearts explode, here we go. It’s all like they’re inside your eyes!” Sherlock cries as Mary, Molly and you pretend to fall into your partners. In your case this doesn’t exactly take much acting and Mycroft has to grip onto your arms very tightly to get you to straighten up again. 

 

You’re a word behind Mary and Molly as they sing, “It’s a very, very, merry, merry Christmas. Gonna party on ‘til Santa grants my wishes. Got my halo on I know what I want. It’s who I’m with. It’s an extraordinary merry Christmas!” During this verse Mary, Molly and you all circle your partners again, you tottering a little as you get increasingly dizzy until you end up coming to stand by Mycroft’s side, facing him. 

 

“Won’t you meet me by the tree?” you sing by yourself, gazing at Mycroft who turns his head to look at you as his lips quirk upward slightly. “Slip away so secretly. Can’t you see how this could be?”-You peck him on the cheek-“The greatest gift of all!” 

 

“It’s a very, very, merry, merry Christmas,” everyone sings as you step back from Mycroft and move in front of him once more. He wraps his arms around your waist and you clutch onto them with your hands, feeling warm and contented as you sway together. “Gonna stay with you ‘til Santa grants my wishes. Got my halo on I know what I want. It’s who I'm with. It’s an extraordinary merry very, very, merry, merry Christmas! Gonna party on ‘til Santa grants my wishes. Got my halo on I know what I want. It’s who I'm with. It’s an extraordinary merry Christmas! It’s a very, very, merry, merry Christmas. It’s an extraordinary merry Christmas!” You all finish a bit breathlessly and the couple gives a polite clap, before you make to move on.

 

Before you can though, Mycroft, whose got your hand in his, stops. “Hold on F/N,” he swings you back to him. You go spinning, before your hands go to land on his chest again. “I think,” he plucks the mistletoe out of your hair and holds it above you, “That we've forgotten to honour a long-held tradition.”

 

“Well we can’t have that,” you murmur, before you grasp at his tie, which is all ruffled up, towards you, so that you can pull him down into a kiss. “Mm…mm,” you murmur against his mouth, as he drops the mistletoe to the floor and puts that hand firmly on your back instead, pushing you closer to him. One of your hands strokes feverishly at his hair as if you want to get lost in him, whilst the other moves from his tie to clutch onto the collar of his coat. _“Mycroft…”_ you breathe as he pulls back from you. His work is done he thinks as he looks upon your eyes that are full of desire. You are just as intoxicated as if the mistletoe had poisoned you. 

 

“Should we go home now?” he asks, his eyes glittering. 

 

You want to. _God_ you want to. But you also want to carry on here. You look at the rest of the group. They've already started singing a version of _Elton John’s ‘Step Into Christmas,’_ led by John and Greg who are kicking and flicking against the air and spinning their partners for all they’re worth. This is definitely carolling with a difference you think. You grin and you can’t help but try and copy some of their moves, albeit in a drunken fashion, that has Mycroft’s hands going close to your waist and his brow furrowing as he worries about you falling, whilst you bounce towards them. 

 

“Step into Christmas,” you blurt out, “Let’s join together. We can watch the snow fall forever and ever. Eat, drink and be merry. Come along with me. Step into Christmas. The admission’s free.”

 

Mycroft sways and spins you as the song continues, but his mind is rather distracted from it. He just wants to get you home. You on the other hand seem to be enjoying things tremendously. 

 

“Welcome to my Christmas song,” John and Greg sing, “I’d like to thank you for the year. So I'm sending you this Christmas card. To say it’s nice to have you here”-you look at Mycroft rather flirtatiously at that point and it makes the desire thrum inside him all the more. Why is he dancing to Elton John when he could be making love to you? –“I’d like to sing about all the things, your eyes and mind can see. So hop aboard the turntable. Oh step into Christmas with me.” 

 

As the song continues your eyes keep catching against his and as it finally fades into, “Oh oh, step, step into Christmas, oh for ever and ever, yeah come along with me now, oh, oh,” Mycroft finds himself most impatient. 

 

As the others move onto the next door he pulls you back to him and looks down at you most seriously as he says as conversationally as he can, “You know I asked earlier, trying to be polite, but clearly the message did not sink in. So I am telling you”-you raise an eyebrow at him-“I want you home. _Now.”_

 

Your hands caress against his shoulders. “What if I say, ‘No?’” you ask sweetly with a smile that creates an air of innocence about you. 

 

“Then perhaps,” he bends down and whispers into your ear, “I shall have to claim you right here, in this street, in front of all your friends. Would you like that? I know I’d usually mind, but I don’t think I’d be able to right now.” 

 

You draw back from him. “Claiming Mr. Holmes? I'm the only one who’s going to be doing the claiming around here.”

 

“Go on then,” Mycroft challenges you. 

 

“Let’s get home first,” you smile.

 

*

 

“Oh, oh, I don’t want a lot for Christmas,” you sing teasingly and Mycroft grunts. You’re straddling him on the bed. “There is just one thing I need.” You’re in your black with red bow and trim lacy underwear, whilst Mycroft has been stripped down to his blue boxers and his white shirt, which you’ve undone all the buttons of. You push both sides of it even more apart and run your hands across his chest, feeling every groove and bump and getting your hands tangled up in his chest hair. “I don’t care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree. I just want you for my own. More than you could ever know.” You dip down towards him and as Mycroft’s eyes flick to your cleavage you feel him hardening against your leg. “Make my wish come true oh all I want for Christmas is you.” You peck him on the lips. 

 

_“Enough,”_ Mycroft growls. “If I have to hear one more Christmas song from you tonight then I'm going to explode and not where I want to.” 

 

“Not like the British Government to surrender so soon,” is all you manage to get out, before Mycroft kisses you possessively and rolls you over. 

 

*

 

Everyone else is gone, leaving Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock sitting opposite each other in the darkened 221B sitting room, which is only lit by candles. 

 

As Sherlock plays the tune on his violin Mrs. Hudson sings the words, “Have yourself a merry little Christmas.”

 

“Let your heart be light,” Sherlock joins in with a bit of a smile. 

 

“From now on, our troubles will be out of sight,” Mrs. Hudson sings. 

 

Not so far away Mary and John peer into their daughter’s crib-she’s been with a neighbour tonight and as much as its been nice to be with friends it’s even nicer to be back with her. 

 

“Have yourself a merry little Christmas. Make the Yuletide gay,” Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson both chorus, “From now on, our troubles will be miles away. Here we are as in olden days. Happy golden days of yore. Faithful friends who are dear to us, gather near to us once more.”

 

In the same city Molly and Greg snuggle close together on the settee as they watch TV. They laugh and joke as they pilfer snacks from the bowl on the table. 

 

“Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow,” Mrs. Hudson and Sherlock sing, “So hang a shining star upon the highest bough and have yourself a merry little Christmas now.”

 

Underneath the covers you roll sleepily towards Mycroft who’s on his back. You admire what you can see of his face in the darkness-the curve of his eyelids and cheeks, the way that his lips are curved into a contented smile-and listen to his soft breathing for a moment, before you push closer to him. You drape a hand across his chest. He makes a sound, but does not wake. Instead his lips simply flick together a couple of times. You nestle into him, feeling satisfied, before you close your eyes and fall asleep. 

 

“Through the years we all will be together, if the fates allow. So hang a shining star upon the highest bough. And have yourself a merry little Christmas now.”


End file.
